First Time I Was Strapped By DadI am one of five children, the second youngest and youngest of thre boys. We all got spanked as children but me most of all.
We grew up on a farm, though in truth dad left most of the work to his farm managet, although had to do a lot of work round the farm, never for money. We were meant to be grateful, because we went to private schools. My oldest brother went to boarding school, lucky sod, but we were not considered worth it. It was better we were around to slave on the farm.
When we were younger, we mostly got spanked by mum, usually with her slipper on bare bum. We got it about the same, often all together for driving her mad, lining up - us boys minus trousers and pants, girls with knickers off, ready to bend over the kitchen table. It was worse if it was just you. She hit harder then . Dad was always the threat. Mess about after a spanking and it would be a trip to the wood shed to wait for him. It was what we all feared.
As we went up to high school Dad took over for us boys whilst mum kept spanking the girls. In one way it was worse for them having to drop the knickers in front of everyone in the kitchen. As we pretty much lived in there, there was always an audience.
I watched my brothers in turn start ro make regular trips to the woodshed as they got older and wondered what it was like. Although often threatened it I wasn't sent there when I was younger. A couple of times I snuck out and spied as Simon or Davey got it. I couldn't see much but heard the sounds. It fascinated me. I had dreams and nightmares about it.
I was about 13 the first time. At that age I was well behaved and helpful, mums favourite, so she protected me a bit. I hadn't really done much wrong. I'd ripped by trousers on my bike cycling back from school. I was standing in the kitchen trouserless whilst mum moaned and tutted as she inspected the damage. It was bad luck that Dad came in them. He immediately had a go at me for being careless, causing mum more work, thinking money grew on trees - the usual stuff. Mum condemned me though, saying that it wouldn't have happened if I'd had my wellingtons on as she'd told me. Dad flew into one of his 'oh thats right is it?' rages, getting sarcastic about me knowing best. I still remember the words that started it all: 'well you might want to put your boots on now, young man, because the woodshed floor is bloody cold!'
I remember hesitating, as iit sunk in, looking round at my sisters and Davey watching open mouthed, before dad propelled me towards the door. I barely had time to grab my wellies before he pushed me out of the door, slammimg it behind me. I pushed my feet into my boots and sloped off to the woodshed shaking. I'd been in there plenty of times, but it took on a sinister air. The chair standing seemingly randomly in the middle seemed to fill the place. I couldn't take my eyes off of the leather strap handing on a nail.
Somehow I knew what to do and stood in front of the chair with my hands on my head. Dad was ages, no doubt having a leisurely cup of tea. Eventually I heard the kitchen door and the crunch of his footsteps across the yard.
He was oddly calm and chatty. He flung a box of matches at me 'put the gas fire on son, its bloody cold' and sat on the chair. 'oh and get those pants off lad. You won't be needing them.'
I remember struggling to get my pants off over my boots and him grabbing me to help them along. He then stood me in front of him and looked up at me. He gave me the 'going to teach you to do as your told' speech and then told me to fetch the strap. As I fetched it to him he stood up, taking off his jumper which he gave to me to hang on the nail as he rolled up his sleeves. He took the strap and waved it towards the chair. I bent over and grabbed the edges of the seat. He kicked my legs back a little and apart. He adjusted my shirt tail and lay the strap on my bare bum.
'this is going to hurt lad. A lot, but don't worry its meant to'
With that he lifted the strap and brought it down with force. I gasped for air, not even able to make a noise. The initial sting grew into pain.the strap came down again, and agian. I focussed hard on my wellies, swearing to myself that I'd always wear them to ride my bike. But the strap kept coming.
Then he stopped. I breathed, too soon.
'don't you move lad', he was just turning the gas fire off, 'we're both getting a bit warmed up now, eh?'
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. He lay the strap on again. After a few more strokes my head shunk into the chair. He reached under me with his left hand and pulled me upright. He looked me straight in tbe face. I was tear strewn and shaking, but he didn't seem bothered.
'just a couple more for luck'
With that he laid a hard stroke across the back of each of my thighs. I cried out, but all he said was 'that'll do, and handed me the strap. I walked stiffly to the nail and swapped the strap for his jumper. He sat down, tired but pleased with the effort.
He stood me in front of him. He slapped my hands away from rubbing my bum
'you dont get to do that, hands on your head. Feel the pain. That's the whole point lad'
He told me it was a little insight into what I could expect from then on. He sat there and watched me sob and struggle with the burning in my backside. Finally he got up.
'ten minutes. No more. If I have to come get you we go again. Don't make me do that lad'
When I went inside everyone carried on as if nothing had happened.nothing was said until the morning when he asked me if my bum was still sore. When I said yes, he replied 'I did a good job there then'. He went on about my sore bum for days.
I got the strap plenty of more times. I tried hard to be good, to do my jobs and do as I was told. I really tried in the weeks that followed, but that just convinced him that the strap had worked. I got no sympathy from mum, she would say it was terrible but would not hesitate to tell Dad I needed sorting out. As I got older I crossed him more and more. I got more stubborn and the strap more often. As my brothers got too old for the strap and it was just me, my sore bum became a regular family joke. bizarrely I got used to the strap, despite the pain and the humiliation of it. I kind of craved it, sometimes deliberately winding Dad up to punish me.
He'd order me to the woodshed and I'd walk across the yard proudly. When I got to about 16 I started undressing completely, standing there in just my wellies, to add to my own humiliation. i never refused a strapping, even into my early twenties.
It stopped when he had a stroke,. I fellt a terrible sense of losing something. After he died, i asked my eldest brother to take me to the woodshed when we got back from the funeral. He agreed and took out hs grief on my bare arse. It was great therapy for both of us.